The Consorts of Death

11

Jens Langeland had his office in Tarnplass, across the street from the Law Courts. When they rang the bell for the first sitting, he could glance at his watch, stroll downstairs, cross the square and take his place on the bench before the judge had raised his eyelids to declare the court in session.

It was nearing the end of the working day and, as I stepped into the anteroom on the second floor, which he shared with two colleagues and a secretary, the secretary was on her way out, dressed as if she were on a charter trip to Eastern Mongolia: under the furlined anorak hood I could only just make out that she was blonde.

‘Is herr Langeland in?’ I asked.

‘We’re closed,’ she said flatly.

‘Yes, but I think it would be to his advantage to hear what I have to tell him.’

She examined me with a sceptical gaze. ‘He’s busy with a client.’

‘You couldn’t buzz through and tell him I would like a word with him, could you? It would be very quick, tell him. It’s about — Johnny boy.’

‘OK…’ Reluctantly she went to her desk and tapped in a number on the telephone. ‘There’s a man here who wants to talk to you. About someone called Johnny boy. — Yes. — No. — I’ll ask him.’ She looked at me. ‘What was the name?’

‘Veum. From social services.’

She passed on the information, listened in silence to what Langeland had to say and then shifted her gaze back to me. ‘He’s coming out.’

‘Thank you very much.’

She sent me a cool stare. ‘Not at all.’

The door to one of the offices opened. Jens Langeland came out, closing the door behind him. He was wearing a dark tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and dark brown trousers.

The secretary was quick off the mark. ‘Can I be off now? I’d like to catch the half past four bus.’

‘Of course, Brigitte. Have a good evening. See you tomorrow.’

She nodded briefly to me in passing and was gone.

‘What’s this about?’ Langeland asked. ‘As I’m sure you were informed, I’m busy with a client.’

‘Yes, I… Not Mette Olsen, I trust.’

‘Mette Olsen! What makes you ask about her?’

‘Well, her partner — a certain Terje Hammersten — suggested that he might contact you.’

‘Well, I definitely haven’t heard from either of them.’

‘I’ve come about Johnny boy.’

‘So I understood.’

‘You didn’t mention yesterday that you were his mother’s solicitor as well. The real mother, I mean.’

‘No, and why should I? What’s this supposed to be anyway? Don’t tell me that social services have taken up criminal investigation as well! You have a strictly delineated sphere of influence, let me remind you. Social services, that’s your remit.’

‘Have you contacted Haukedalen?’

‘I have spoken to Hans, yes,’ he said, tight-lipped. ‘Your colleague — something or other Strand — was there keeping a close eye on things, but progress was slow, he said. I assume you will put him in professional hands before very long.’

‘We already have a psychologist in the team. Dr Storetvedt.’

‘I see. But you wanted to talk to me, my secretary informed me.’

‘Yes. This is about Mette Olsen.’

‘Uhuh?’

‘She said you recommended her not to proceed when she wanted to try to hold onto Jan.’

His eyes glazed over. ‘Mm… I suppose that is a correct interpretation, as far as it goes. But I’m not at liberty to discuss client issues, Veum. I’m sure you appreciate that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why didn’t I recommend her to proceed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Poor odds. That much I can say. And I also had the child’s welfare to consider. The child was better off where he was.’

‘You’d been her solicitor before, she said.’

‘Yes, indeed, but only as a solicitor’s clerk. A matter she got involved in during the mid sixties.’

‘You were fresh out of school, she said.’

‘We-ell, school… She was also a very different person then. Young, sweet and mixed up in something that had suddenly gone sour on her.’

‘And that was…?’

‘They’d been arrested at Flesland airport, she and one other person. Charged with trying to smuggle in a hefty stash of dope. But we managed to have her acquitted.’

‘Mm?’

‘But as you have discovered, it didn’t end there. She drifted into the habit and when the Jan business blew up, she contacted us again. Then I was given the case on my own. But it was hard going and, as I mentioned previously, I had to prioritise his interests over hers, even though I was her solicitor.’

‘But at the same time you were acting on behalf of Svein and Vibecke Skarnes.’

‘No, no, no! Not at all. That came later.’

‘Uhuh?’

‘A coincidence. I knew both Vibecke and Svein from university. Svein contacted us — that is, the partnership here — in connection with a compensation matter, and the case landed on my desk.’

‘What was his line of business?’

‘Photocopiers. Not the big brands, but they were very competitive in the local market, in Bergen and south-west Norway generally.’

‘But the fact that you’d been Mette Olsen’s solicitor first, didn’t that disqualify you from acting for Skarnes?’

‘No, why should it? This was a business matter. And today… today the situation is quite different, for everyone. Now I have to assess what is best for Jan once again. But I don’t have time for this, Veum. I have to get back to…’ He faced the office door.

‘Has Vibecke Skarnes contacted you?’

Something happened to his eyes, a brief flash of panic immediately replaced by frostiness. ‘It’s beyond my comprehension what this has to do with you, Veum.’

‘It has nothing to do with me, except that the police would very much like to speak to her.’

‘In that event, the police would have every opportunity — when the time comes.’

‘When the time comes. So she has contacted you?’

‘Veum! I’m afraid I will have to show you the door. I’m closing.’

He grabbed my shoulder with great determination and shoved me towards the exit.

‘Just one more thing,’ I objected on my way out.

‘No, Veum, no.’ He shook his head resolutely, pushed me into the corridor and, before locking up behind me, said: ‘Mind your own business, Veum.’

I heard what he said, but for some reason I was not in an amenable frame of mind that day. I walked down towards Christian Michelsens gate, then decided to play detective for another hour. I stood in a house entrance and waited.

I didn’t have to wait very long. Jens Langeland appeared after less than half an hour, and he was not alone. There was a woman with him, and I realised that the secretary had not been lying when she said he was busy with a client. She was wearing a light brown sheepskin coat, and her hair was concealed beneath a large woollen hat. Nevertheless, I had no problem recognising Vibecke Skarnes from the photograph on the bureau in her hallway.